turning the pages
by ifonly13
Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

His mouth is already open when he walks into the bedroom but nothing comes out. He can't even remember what he was going to say, the words already erased from his mind by the sight in front of him.

Because she's curled around herself with her head at the wrong end of the bed. Her fingers are tracing over her stomach, writing a story across the delicately stretched skin.

"You gonna come in?" she whispers into the darkness, eyes opening to find his.

He drops the pad of paper on the bedside table before sitting at her hip. His fingers slide along the skin bared between the waistband of her sweatpants and where the t-shirt won't cover her stomach. "You doing okay?"

She hums, nodding into the comforter. "Fine. Just tired."

"He's not kicking," he says, smoothing his palm over her belly button.

"He's sleeping," she replies, putting her hand over his. "We're taking a nap."

So he scoots onto the bed behind her, an arm banding under her breasts so that his fingers can tickle at her side. "Love you," he murmurs into her neck.

She turns her head and brushes her lips over his jaw. "Still not naming him Indiana Jones."

"I've got a month to convince you."

"Not gonna happen," she sighs as she relaxes against him.

* * *

Just over a month, he holds the little body wrapped in a blanket. He's pacing the hospital room, eyes darting between the tiny fingers wrapped around his shirt to the woman on the bed who is watching him from behind sleepy eyes.

"Fine," she says quietly.

He turns, sitting on the edge of the bed, balancing the baby so that he can grab her fingers. "Yeah?"

"Okay, we're not naming our daughter Indiana."

Because their boy, the one they were so sure of being a boy, isn't. Instead, he's got the soft pink blanket-clad baby girl in the crook of his elbow. And he's happy. They're happy because she's healthy and beautiful and theirs.

"Diana."

She's clever. Diana is part of Indiana. God, he loves her. "Diana," he murmurs, running his finger over the baby's upcurved nose. The baby smacks her lips, eyes still squeezed shut. He moves closer to Beckett, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I love you."

"She's not wearing a hat and a whip on the way home," Beckett says with a grin.

* * *

About a day later, she's got Diana in her arms as he drives back to the apartment.

The girl is in a khaki onesie that is way too big on her tiny body under the blanket.

Castle is grinning on the entire ride home with his girls.


	2. Chapter 2

It started in the kitchen.

Her fingers brushed against his side, dipping under the worn t-shirt to touch the warm skin. He nearly spilled the pasta sauce he was tasting to make sure the salt wasn't overpowering, red spots dotting the granite countertop as the wooden spoon fell from his hand.

She smiled innocently, moving around him to pull down plates, take silverware from the drawer. Until he wrapped his arms around her waist, fingertips bunching up the fabric of her sweater to get at her stomach. She ducked away, dancing backwards on toe tips toward the living room even as he followed.

He has his hands reaching out, the pads of his fingers touching her sleeve as he corners her against the arm of the couch. She swats at him, kicking out with her bare feet. It gives him enough opportunity to get his fingers at her sides.

Her laughter spills into the room, loud and infectious and free, as he tickles at her. As his fingers trip over to her back, she arches forward, squirming away from him even as he presses closer and tips her onto the couch.

She screams before the breath is pushed from her lungs as his body falls on top of her. His hands bracelet her wrists, pinning them over her head so that he can attack her neck.

"Uncle!" she gasps, trying to hook her leg over his thigh to flip them onto the ground. "Uncle!"

He pauses, just the short nails of his fingers trailing over the sensitive skin over collarbone as she sucks in air beneath him. And then he rolls over to the back of the couch, keeping them safely on the cushions.

Her fingers frame his face, tips curling into his hair as she presses a kiss to his smiling mouth. Still out of breath, eyes shining with amusement, her voice is barely a whisper that drifts into his ear. "God, I love you, Castle."

He freezes even as she rests her head on his chest. She can't feel him breathing, body tense under her. She lifts her head, lips sliding along his jaw. "You okay?"

His hand twists gently into her hair, tugging her down for a kiss that screams his love back at her. "More than. So much more than okay," he sighs.

The world hadn't ended. He hadn't disappeared and neither had she.

She couldn't even wipe the happy, contented smile off her face when they smelled the pasta burning on the stove and set off the fire alarm before they could scramble off the couch and back into the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

_For Jess, for being there for me._

* * *

She's been sitting in the dark room for the past hour, back against the wall next to the rocking chair. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are pulled down over her hands, fabric turned dark from tears as she swipes at the wet trails on her cheeks.

"Beckett?" comes his frantic voice, swinging in through the door. "You okay?"

She gives a watery laugh, wiping away another set of tears. "Mostly," she sighs, resting her head on his knee when he walks over to her. Her fingers curl around his pant leg. "Can't get up."

He chuckles, the nerves still showing a little.

"Don't laugh," she protests, shoving at him. "It's not funny. I tried half an hour ago and just slid back down."

Castle lets himself fall down against the wall, butt hitting the ground a little harder than expected. She tips her body toward him, cuddling into his side as much as her rounded stomach will let her. His hand coasts over her, fingertips massaging lightly.

"How's the baby doing?"

She moves his hand over to the right side, letting him feel. "We've been practicing hand-to-hand." Her eyes have slipped closed, nose burrowing into his shoulder. Her hair, longer and closer to blonde than it has ever been, tickles at his neck.

His fingers twine with hers, squeezing gently. "What's wrong?"

Beckett shakes her head. "I just wish they were here, you know? To meet the baby."

"I know," he murmurs, brushing a kiss at her temple.

She unfolds her legs, flexing her feet. "But I really did get stuck here and I kind of need to pee. Help me up?"

He uses the wall to push himself up, turning to help her to her feet. She sways into him, her stomach bumping into his with the momentum. His lips press against her forehead.

"They'd be proud, Beckett," he whispers, already tugging her toward the door. "And so very happy."

She smiles, nodding mostly to herself. "I know."

"You want dinner?"

Beckett hums, already leaving him in the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. "Grilled cheese and soup. In bed. Too tired to get back out here."

On the walk through the bedroom, she lets her fingers trail over the framed photo of her parents on the bureau. He's right. They'd both be happy.


	4. Chapter 4

He loved working with her.

The long hours in the precinct. The bad coffee. The endless nights of Chinese take-out. The smell of dry erase marker that lingered in his clothes even after he had left the station. The uncomfortable chair he had claimed as his own for years. The strain on his eyes after looking at financial statements for hours. The thrill of catching a lead, of pulling pieces together. The jokes thrown across the bullpen late at night when they're running on caffeine fumes. The naps snuck on the break room couch, heads resting on the other's shoulder. The hours and hours of paperwork after closing the case.

He loved working with her.

But he loves her even more.

The long hours in bed. The amazing coffee. The endless nights of 'research' for his books. The smell of her hair after a shower. The way their bodies sink into the couch in his office. The times when his eyes ache from writing and she knows to drag him away from his laptop. The thrill of making her laugh after a bad day. The jokes tossed over the dining room table. The times when they abandon actual work and take a nap instead. The hours and hours of laughter.

He loves her even more.


	5. Chapter 5

Her hands shake a little.

She doesn't know how to do this. How on earth did her mom do it? Just spill the news at the dinner table or whisper it into her dad's ear in bed?

She turns at the end of the living room, pacing back toward the kitchen. Her hands run over her hair, tugging on the ends as she looks at the clock on the microwave. He's gonna be home anytime now – the man runs on a schedule like he was in the military – and she has no clue what she's going to do.

A sweeping declaration or a quiet one?

But then the door opens and her hands fall from her neck and just blurts it out.

"We're pregnant."

His briefcase falls onto the hardwood. "What?" he asks, blinking at her.

"We're pregnant," she repeats slowly. "And I obviously screwed up this whole reveal thing so…" She turns to go down the hall but his hand is gentle on her elbow, spinning her back to him.

"You're sure?" he says, tipping her head up even as she tries to hide her eyes.

"Yeah. Went to the doctor today," she murmurs. "Wanted to be certain this time after the last three tries."

He kisses her softly, fingers curling around her shoulders to pull her tight against his chest. "Oh, Jo. You didn't screw anything up."

She has tears in her eyes when he lifts her up so that her legs link at the small of his back around his waist. "Sure feels like it. Didn't you want, I don't know, a big deal of it or something?" she asks as he walks toward their room. "Because we've tried for so long and now that it's real, shouldn't it be a huge moment?"

He lays her down on their unmade bed – they were both running late that morning and never got around to making it – and runs his fingers over her cheeks. "You're enough," he whispers over her lips. "You're going to be such a good mom."

"I'm gonna screw something up."

"Definitely."

She shoves at his shoulder. "It's gonna be a girl." When he raises a brow, she smiles. "I just know."

"Well I'm voting for a boy then."

She has a bet to make, sitting right on her tongue, but he wipes it out of her mind when his fingers start to dance along the skin under her shirt.

* * *

Seven months later, the baby girl is born right on time, already inheriting her father's punctuality. And as the three of them squeeze together on the hospital bed, Johanna turns her head to brush a quiet, sleepy kiss across her husband's jaw.

"I told you so."

He smiles. "Feel like I'm gonna be hearing more of those words in the future."

"Count on it," she sighs, already looking back at the baby.


	6. Chapter 6

She sits in the coffee shop, fingers curled around the cup of hot chocolate. What she wants is to go home, get into her pajamas, and go over the case files. But instead, she answered the text and is sitting here, waiting.

"Hey."

She looks up, not smiling as Beckett slides into the seat across from her. "Hi."

"I'm sorry for not calling," says Beckett.

Lanie shakes her head. "I'm your best friend and you didn't call me for three months. Not even a text or an e-mail." When Beckett opens her mouth, Lanie holds a hand up and plows on. "Do you know what it's like? To have your best friend die under your hands? Because that's what you did. You died. And then you dropped off the face of the earth for three months."

"I needed space," Beckett murmurs, the same excuse she's been giving everyone.

"And e-mailing me is such an intrusion of space," she says, letting the venom leak out. She looks over the table, finds Beckett curled in on herself. "Why did you cut off contact with us, Kate?"

"I couldn't move without crying," she says softly. "Every breath hurt. I didn't want anyone seeing me like that, Lanie."

Lanie reaches across the table, fingers warm from the hot chocolate when she rests her hand over her friend's thin bones. "You could have called."

"But I didn't. And I'm sorry."

"Just… don't do it again?" she asks, drawing Beckett's eyes up to hers. "You have friends, sweetie. We don't need to see you but keeping in contact would be nice."

Beckett sighs. "Yeah, okay. That said, I kinda don't want to get shot in the heart again."

Lanie smiles and nudges the other cup toward her friend. "Me neither."


	7. Chapter 7

He finds her in the second observation room, the one in the back that they only use during busy cases. The lights are off. The only sound in the confined space is her breathing and the rustle of fabric as she trembles in the far corner. She starts when the door clicks closed behind him.

He nearly trips on her shoes, kicked off in the center of the room, but he catches himself on the wall and slides down next to her. He's careful not to touch her.

"You're okay," he whispers, breaking the near silence.

Her breath rushes out on a near sob, sucks back in as she tips her body into his. "I know," she murmurs into the sleeve of his jacket. "I know, but…"

His arm loops over her shoulders, pulling her close. "What do you need me to do?" he asks, mouth at her temple, feeling the vibrations under his lips.

"Just stay here," she manages through clenched teeth. "I just need to settle and I'll be good."

So he stays, his arm anchoring her until she looks up and brushes her lips over his jaw. She doesn't need to verbalize the 'thank you' as he helps her off the ground, pushes her hair back from her face as she straightens her shirt and slips her shoes back on. Instead, she just tangles her fingers with his and tugs him out of the observation room and back into the bullpen.


	8. Chapter 8

It hurts, handing her the divorce papers. He hadn't expected to feel bad, feel anything at all. He had steeled himself against the wave of emotions.

But the knife cuts through him when she sees that he's not joking. When she nearly collapses into his arms, legal papers falling to the ground next to her purse and jacket.

She pleads with him to give her another chance, that she'll make it up to him, to all of them.

He shakes his head, words temporarily stuck in his chest as he steadies her on her own feet. He tells her, as calmly as possible, that they're done, that he can't do this anymore. They'd been over for a while. What she did two weeks ago was just the final straw. He offers to pay for a room at the Plaza until she can find her own place.

Her fingers tremble as she goes to pack some clothes from the bedroom. When she returns, he's missing. He leaves a note on her things with the hotel confirmation number and a final "I love you."

He doesn't hear the front door close as he walks the upstairs hallway, trying to quiet the newborn in his arms. He can do this alone, he decides, running his fingertip over Alexis's tiny, upturned nose. He and his little girl can do this alone.


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N:** A what-if post-ep for "Probable Cause." Because when that final scene happened, I told Linds, Jenn, and Em that I'd be the person to do this. And so I did._

_Also, this is terribly, tragically angsty. If that's not your cup of tea, move on._

* * *

He was too slow. Too goddamn slow. He gets the shot off into Tyson's shoulder in time to catch her body as it crumples forward. He's thankful for the dark clothing he's wearing, for the dim darkness that blinds him to the red already staining his shirt and pants.

"No, Beckett. No," he murmurs, voice shaking as his fingers scramble over her stomach to find the ragged edges of the wound. "Not now."

The salt breeze from off the Hudson stings his face, mingling with the salt water from the tears leaking from his eyes as he cups her cheek, other hand pressing into her abdomen. Her eyes are fluttering, the light draining out of them.

And there's nothing he can do.

He has to duck his head down, his cheek against hers, to hear the words she's whispering. The same three words over and over, broken by choking coughs. A strangled whimper escapes and he's not entirely sure who it originated from.

No. She doesn't get to give up now.

She's a dead weight when he picks her up, cradling her as he stumbles back toward the main road. Her fingers are clenched at his shirt and when he takes a moment to glance down at her face, he finds her pale, eyes shut against the pain.

He just needs to find someone. Anyone with a car or a phone or anything. He needs to get help.

"Just… hold on," he pleads.

He can't lose her.

* * *

Except he does.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:** To make up for the tragedy of the last one._

* * *

It was a very long two weeks.

Sure, they had phone calls and e-mails and texts and one brief Skype session that was interrupted by a call from the precinct. But it wasn't the same.

And now she's stuck at work, staring at the clock, because his flight is supposed to be coming in soon and she was going to meet him at the loft. But she can't now because some bond trader from the Upper West Side was stabbed to death and she needs to wait on Forensics to come back before she can even think of leaving.

When her phone rings, she grabs it, answering quickly because she's praying that it's that dickhead who should be running the fingerprints on the knife.

"Hey, you."

She nearly drops the phone. "Castle," she whispers, the smile spreading across her face.

"You at work?" he asks.

"Yeah. Won't be able to escape for a while. I can pick up dinner on the way back once I get out."

"That's okay," he says. "I've got it covered."

The shaking of the paper bag is too loud to be coming through the speaker of the phone. She looks up, finds him standing near the elevator, holding up the bag of food.

And this time, she does let the phone clatter to the desk as she pushes out of her chair as quickly as she can, starting over to him. He catches her up, dropping the food to the ground, an arm around her neck as the other settles on her back. It's a little awkward, her stomach pressing into his, but she's smiling into his neck.

"Hi," she murmurs into his warm skin.

"Missed you," he says, lips brushing her hair.

Her fingers curl into his jacket, sighing. "Missed you too." She takes a step back, picking up the abandoned bag of what smells like Chinese even as his hands skim over her stomach. "He's been quiet. I think he knows I'm not in the mood to have him elbowing me every five minutes."

"Day not going well?" he asks, tugging her toward the break room with the comfortable couch he bought for the precinct months ago.

She settles into the couch, letting him hand her the carton of spicy noodles and veggies, a pair of chopsticks before sitting next to her. "Idiots in Forensics are moving slowly," she says as she takes a bite of the Chinese. "But it's okay now."

He blinks, the end of his noodle hitting him in the chin and smearing sauce against the unshaven skin. "Why?"

She reaches out, wiping away the sauce. "Because you're back."


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N:** Another what-if for "Probable Cause." Because, yes, I am an asshole. And I like hurting people. This is tragically heart-breaking. Move on if it's not your cup of tea._

* * *

She hasn't left the apartment in days.

Most of those days have been spent in bed, clutching at his pillows. One of his shirts, deep, deep green, is slipping from her shoulders as she curls herself into the sheets. A desperate attempt to surround herself with what is left of him.

She's not even crying anymore. The sobs have gone dry and she's left with wracking coughs.

Martha and Alexis tried to help at first. Tried to lure her out into the world. His mother was always bringing her food, bowls of soup and crackers and cups of tea. A couple of hours later, she'd return and take away the tray, food untouched.

When she's not filling the empty room with the ragged coughs, she's sleeping. Fitfully, for a few hours at a time.

The only time she's left his apartment was for the funeral. It took all of her force of will to do it again, to stand up in front of friends and family members and talk about someone she loved. Every second was agony, spent glancing at her side, expecting to see him standing there. She expected to feel the burn of the bullet, to feel his weight tackle her to the ground.

But it didn't happen. He wasn't there, not really.

And he won't be. Not tomorrow or the day after or even years later.

She had spent the rest of that day huddled on the floor of the shower, letting the too hot water mask the gasping sobs.

After a week and half of the same thing, she pulls herself as close to together as possible. She doesn't have to wiggle into the pair of jeans because of the weight she has lost, the shirt – one of his because even now, she can't bear to be away from him – hangs from her body.

She doesn't care.

And instead of the bed, she's tucking her feet up onto her chair and staring at the files and documents and records and screenshots of surveillance cameras from the case that claimed his life.

It wasn't him. Couldn't be because she knows him.

She's going to figure this out.

She's going to figure this out if it kills her.


	12. Chapter 12

The apartment is quiet and dark when he walks through the front door. He toes his shoes off, puts his jacket in the closet, and hangs the keys up on the hook next to hers. So she's home. Now he just needs to find her.

He's as silent as possible as he checks the upstairs nursery, finds it empty, just the stars and moon mobile casting soft light onto the pale, buttery yellow walls.

He nearly misses her on the couch as he goes toward the bedroom. She's stretched out, head resting on the pile of pillows near the arm of the couch. Her braid is falling out, strands curling at her cheeks and neck. Her mouth is open, slack with sleep.

But her hands are steady against the newborn's back. She's keeping the tiny girl against her chest, making sure she doesn't roll off onto the floor.

He expects to see the baby as asleep as her mother but when he kneels next to the couch, he finds the cloudy grey eyes blinking at him.

"Hey, pretty girl," he whispers, stroking a finger down her chubby cheek and drawing a smile from her. "You being good for Mom?"

"Yeah, she is," comes the slurred response. Beckett's eyes are still closed but one hand drops to his thigh. "Hi."

He leans forward, brushing his lips across hers briefly. "Calm day?"

She hums, the hand still on the baby's back smoothing up and down. "She must have inherited all of my traits. Even when she cried, she was quiet."

"Oh, we both know you're not quiet," he murmurs into her hair.

Beckett covers the baby's head with her hand, opening her eyes into a glare. "Not in front of the innocent ears, Castle."

He smirks, scooping the baby off Beckett's chest and cradling the tiny body against his. When Beckett reaches for the girl's sock, he swats her hand away gently. "Go back to sleep. I can take care of her for the next hour."

"She'll want to be fed at five," she sighs, curling into the cushions, her legs drawing up. "Wake me up then?"

"Of course," he says, pushing a kiss into the corner of her mouth. "Take your nap."


	13. Chapter 13

_To a sweet, intelligent girl who fills my life with flailing over Katharine Hepburn, Once Upon a Time (even though I still don't like Regina), and all sorts of science-y love. To my Canadian other half. Happy Birthday, Em!_

* * *

It's not an unusual sight for him to walk in on. She's curled up on the couch in her pajamas, fuzzy purple and blue striped socks peeking out from the bottom of her yoga pants, the too-large sweatshirt hanging off her shoulder. Her hair is falling out of the messy bun, strands tickling her neck. And, as always, there's a book propped up on her thighs. Typical day off position for her.

"What're we reading today?" he asks, nudging her feet over on the cushions so he can sit.

She tips the book up so he can see the cover. He makes a face. "What?"

"Neuroscience? Really, Beckett?" She kicks at him, her toes digging into his side, her attention already back to the book. "Do I need to write the next book faster? You that bored?"

"You jealous that I'm reading something other than your stuff?" She's not looking up, fingers ready to turn the page of the book, but she knows he's scowling.

He flops onto the cushions, crushing her knees against the back of the couch. "No, but neuroscience? That's your idea of fun reading?"

"Yeah, it is," she says, glancing at him over the top of the book. "Now shush."

Castle's quiet for all of thirty seconds before he leans down, pressing her into the cushions as he wiggles into the space between her and the couch. "But why? Why stuff about the brain?"

She sighs, closing her book on her finger to keep her place. "Because it's cool."

"How?"

"It doesn't feel pain," she starts, shifting as he gets comfortable half-draped over her. "When you laugh, five different parts of your brain have to work. The slowest speed the brain processes information is 260 miles per hour. It still works when you sleep even though you probably don't remember what you think of when you're asleep. And women are better at reading facial expressions then men."

"Which explains why you're so much better at interrogations than Ryan or Esposito," he adds with a smile.

"They've got their own strengths," she says. "But see? The brain's cool."

"What does that book say about the brain and sex?"

She huffs, shoving at his chest even as he sneaks his fingers underneath her sweatshirt. "It says that you're not getting any if you don't leave me alone for the next half hour."

"The brain is lame," he declares, rolling off the couch.

* * *

Except a week later, the book is on his bedside table and he's the one who won't shut up about all the cool things he's learning and she's regretting ever reading the book in front of him.

Because suddenly, the brain is cool again.


	14. Chapter 14

_For Morgie, for all those times she's filled my inbox with askfics._

* * *

He's been planning the party for a good two months, insisting that something of this proportion, this significance needed time to sort itself out. Now he's rambling about getting her to help set out food as he hangs last-minute decorations.

Frankly, she could care less right now.

"Come on, Beckett," he whines, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to her neck. "Just for a night."

She shoves at his head. "No. It's your party. You take care of it." She hates that it takes so long for her to get up off the couch; it gives him a chance to scramble around to her side.

"Wait," he says, snagging her sleeve. "Is this because you don't like Halloween or…?"

"It's because I'm pregnant and don't want to be at a party. I don't want to get dressed up and I don't want…" She sighs, stepping as close into him as stomach will allow, resting her forehead against the curve of his shoulder. "I love you, Castle, and I'll spend some time at your party but I mostly just want to sleep."

"I'll cancel the party."

She huffs out a breath, stepping back, patting him on his arm. "No, you won't. You love Halloween too much."

"Love you more," he murmurs, touching his lips to hers. "You don't need to dress up."

"So you don't mind that I'm going to just wear my pajamas to your favorite party of the entire year?"

"Not at all," he says, backing her toward the bedroom, the garland tangling around his feet. "Because you'll still be the hottest woman in the room even in your pajamas. Especially eight months pregnant. But mostly because you're you."

Her belly bumps into him as she loops her arms around his neck, lifting herself up onto her toes to kiss him. "Thank you," she sighs against his cheek.


	15. Chapter 15

_To my twin who also likes Regina, understands my obsession with Casablanca, and is going to be my business partner when we open a noir style bar in New York City. Happy Birthday, Pau!_

* * *

Someone is kicking at her stomach.

She reaches out, untangling her hand from the sheets, and tries to shove at Castle but her hand slides across the bed instead of connecting to his shoulder. When she opens her eyes, his spot is indeed empty but she can see the soft glow of his laptop and desktop lamp from the study. So he's writing. Not unusual.

But the quick jab to her hip is.

Kate lifts up the sheets and finds their daughter's eyes gazing up at her. Her dark hair blends into the navy of the sheets and the darkness but she can make out the pale oval of her face, the tiny, curled fists.

"Hey, baby girl," Kate whispers. "What're you doing?"

The girl smacks her lips around her thumb, burrowing her head into the mattress. "Mama," she sighs.

The one word makes her heart flip as she wiggles down so that she's eyelevel with the one year old. "You like the dark?"

A little foot kicks out, connecting with her abdomen. Kate catches the slim ankle, fingers tickling at the strip of skin between the sock and the baby's onesie. But the girl is smiling around her thumb.

Kate shifts her knee up, giving them a little more space under the blankets. "You know who else likes tents, Elle?" she asks. The girl doesn't answer, just stares with wide eyes. "Papa. Papa loves tents and forts."

"Papa."

"Mhm," Kate murmurs, brushing a kiss over the baby's dark hair. "Want to get him to join us in the tent?"

"Get me to do what?" comes Castle's voice from the edge of the bed.

"Get into bed with us," she says, lifting the sheets just enough to peek at him. "Come on."

He circles around the bed to his side, pushing his cold feet against her shins when he gets under the blankets. "How's little miss Roosevelt doing?"

"You gonna keep calling her that?"

"Maybe. She's gonna be smart and beautiful and -"

"You know she wasn't named after Eleanor Roosevelt," Kate says, letting their daughter gnaw at her thumb.

Castle puts a finger over Kate's lips. "Shush. I'm sure your grandmother was also smart and beautiful. She gonna sleep here tonight?"

"Yeah. I'm not getting up. Just don't crush her like you do with me," she warns, pressing closer to touch her lips to his. "Goodnight, Castle."

His fingers smooth over her waist as he runs a finger down over Eleanor's cheek. "Love you, my girls."


	16. Chapter 16

"But Mom," the girl whines, throwing herself across Kate's lap. "Dad would have let me."

Her heart clenches around the still raw hole, her breathing shuddering to a stop for a second. For a moment, it's not her daughter sprawled over her legs but Castle. His dark hair falling into his face, hiding eyes bright with pleading and amusement. She has to shake her head and close her eyes to replace the image with Jo's pouty lips.

"Let me guess," she sighs, brushing a hand over the tangled braid. "Dad let you stay up before?"

"Yes."

Kate groans, sitting back into the cushions of the couch. "Castle, we said eight o'clock," she whispers. "You deviate a few times and it becomes expected behavior."

Jo scrunches her face up, tilting her head into Kate's knee. "Why are you talking to Dad?"

Because he's still here. Not physically, but he still lingers. She's still finding little notes from him in the pockets of her jackets or slipped into books on the shelves. Some of his shirts still smell like his cologne and traces of shampoo. Sometimes she swears she can hear his laughter from the other room.

But their five year old doesn't need the haunting presence of her father. "I miss him, Jo. But that doesn't mean you get an extra hour before bed."

"I wanna read, though."

He'd ask for just a half hour then. The girl wants to read, Beckett. We both know you love to read. Give our daughter half an hour.

"Fine, Castle. Half an hour."

Jo's eyes light up, the grin replacing her pout instantly. "I get half an hour? For reading?"

Kate nods. "Half an hour. Go pick out a book and I'll be up in a minute."

"Two books?" she asks, looking hopeful.

Kate narrows her eyes. "Josephine, do not push it."

The girl scrambles off the couch, sliding on the hardwood floors in her fuzzy socks. "One book. Thanks Mom and Dad!"

She has to press her fingers to her eyes, feeling the cool line of her wedding ring against her cheek. "God, I miss you," she murmurs to the empty room before she gets up to follow Jo upstairs.

Her hand is on the railing, just reaching the middle landing of the staircase when his voice drifts to her ears, just a quiet "love you" tickling at her hair. It halts her, makes her spin around to search the kitchen and living room for him as if he was just playing one long game of hide-and-seek.

He's not there.

But still, she smiles, reaching up to wipe away the few tears. "Love you too, Castle."

Jo is snuggled under the covers already, the extra pillow propped up next to her, book on her lap. Kate pauses in the doorway, watching as the girl's finger traces under words and attempts to sound them out.

"Mom, what's this word?" she asks, pointing to the page.

She slides under the top blanket, settling back against the pillow. "Enormous," she says, tipping the cover of the book up. "Good choice. Maybe tomorrow we can go to the park and see if we can find our own ducklings."

Jo uses her shoulder to curl into Kate's side. "I like ducklings."

"Then it's a date," Kate says, touching her lips to the girl's head. She pulls the book closer so that it sits between them. "'Just as they were getting ready to start on their way, a strange enormous bird came by,'" she reads as Jo uses her finger to follow the words along the yellowed page.

Half an hour turns into a full hour before Jo is slumped in sleep against Kate's arm, fairy tales and classic books scattered over the covers.

Kate finds that she doesn't mind.


	17. Chapter 17

She hasn't cleaned up the shards of ceramic or the splattered water. The rag hangs in her hand as she stares at the mess around her. She's thankful for the counter at her back, holding her up as her legs tremble.

No.

It has to be a dream. This whole mess has to be a really bad dream. He'll wake her up soon, scattered kisses along her arm up to her lips, tickling her bare skin.

So she closes her eyes and prays for just a minute.

The only response is the sharp kick of the baby. It pulls her back to reality, to the broken mug on the kitchen floor.

To the fact that she'll never really feel his kisses again.

She slides down the side of the counter, gathering up the pieces of the cup. She thought it was silly when he gave it to her. He had presented it to her one morning, a bright red bow around the handle. A two week anniversary present, he had declared. Much better than that horrid tie Jenny had bought Ryan for theirs. So she brought it to the precinct, watching him smile each time that she used it instead of the plain black one from the break room.

But then he wasn't there anymore and it didn't feel right and she tucked it into her bag one night to bring it back home. She couldn't have coffee, not with the baby, but she used it for soup, for juice in the morning.

Her finger traces over the jagged edge of one of the pieces, using her other hand to wipe at the run-away tears.

It's just a coffee mug.

But it wasn't. It was a part of him.

She sweeps the pieces into a neat pile, using the dustpan to transfer them into one of the unused Tupperware containers. She can't throw it away. Once she's back on her feet, the rag tossed over the tiny puddles of water, she cradles the container of broken shards against her chest on the walk back toward their bedroom.

The clear Tupperware goes next to their wedding photo, right behind the little bowl of his things that she still finds around the loft and the precinct. His favorite pen and a collection of notes to her and their first ultrasound, creased from him showing everyone who would listen, and their list of possible names and his wedding band.


	18. Chapter 18

The snowflakes settle on the dark wool of her coat on the walk from her car to the front door. Her feet and fingers are freezing; the heater in her car broke and she lost her gloves last week. She shoves them into her pockets but it does nothing to stop the wind from cutting across her cheeks, nipping at her ears. Her boots slide once in the slushy mess on the sidewalk outside of the building and she throws out an arm to catch herself on the brick, the stone abrading her palm.

It isn't Eduardo in the lobby; she figures he must have Christmas Eve off to spend with his family. But the part-time doorman, a college student who lives up two floors, smiles at her as he greets her from behind the desk.

The hallway is chilly as she knocks on his door, twisting her hands together for warmth. She can hear the Christmas music from behind the deep red wood before he opens the door, the music louder.

"Hey," he breathes out.

"Hi."

He smiles softly, pulling her over the threshold by her scarf. "Didn't expect you until much later. Thought the traffic would be worse on the way back from the cabin."

"I could leave, come back in a few hours if that would help," she says, curling her fingers against his side.

"I think I can figure out how to entertain you until dinner," he murmurs, kissing her gently. He jerks back sharply. "Beckett, you're freezing."

She hums, snuggling into his body. "Gonna warm me up, Castle?"

"I do know a few ways to manage that." He tugs her over to the living room, the place sparkling with twinkle lights and candles and the nearly palpable Christmas cheer. "And it starts with getting all of your clothes off," he says, pushing her coat off her shoulders and tossing it over the couch.

"Seems that would make me colder," she teases, following him through his study to the bedroom.

"Oh, you'd think," he explains, unbuttoning her shirt, warm fingers smoothing over her skin. "But the thing you do when you are totally naked helps turn the heat up."

She licks her lips as his hands move to the button of her pants. "Yeah?" she asks, her voice rough.

"Yeah. Come on," he says, quickly brushing a hand over her snow-damp hair before he nudges her toward the bathroom in just her underwear. He turns the water on in the shower, checking to make sure it isn't too hot. "So now you get into the shower and you don't get out until you've thawed."

Beckett catches the waistband of his jeans, nearly pulling him in after her. "You get in here too. I need some help getting the circulation back to my feet." Her fingers slip against the metal button on his pants as he sheds the shirt.

He presses her against the tile, shifting her leg up so that it is hooked around his calf. "I think I can help with that."

By the time they stumble out from the fogged-up bathroom, she can definitely feel her toes.


	19. Chapter 19

"How many of those have you had?"

She drops the wrapper on the ground, letting it join the pile under the coffee table. She rolls the little chocolate ball between her fingers before she pops it into her mouth. "Not nearly enough." She digs into the bag and takes another out.

"Seriously, Beckett," he sighs, sitting next to her on the couch and taking the bag from her hand. "Enough."

She grabs for the bag, accidentally dropping the truffle she already had. "Give them back! Castle!"

He holds them out of her reach. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong…" She trails off when his eyes narrow. "Okay." She twists the end of the truffle wrapper, taking the dark chocolate ball from the dark blue foil. "I'm stressed out and this stupid ADA is stonewalling me and Ryan is grouchy because Jenny is pregnant and grouchy and I just want to eat chocolate. So give them back."

He hands over the bag of truffles, watching as she unwraps another one. "Have you had dinner?"

She holds up the truffle.

"No. Real dinner."

"Says the guy who eats whipped cream as an appetizer to cookies and ice cream as a meal."

"Shush," he says. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"Maybe I can call out of work tomorrow if I'm sick," she muses. "I wouldn't have to deal with the ADA or Ryan if that was the case. Might be a good plan."

His feet push at the pile of foil on the ground when he scoots closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We both know you'll go to work tomorrow and you'll smile at Ryan and put up with the ADA. Then you will come home and, since it's Friday and you don't work on Saturdays, you will have a few glasses of wine and maybe have some half-drunk sex with me."

She smiles, turning to kiss him. "Maybe." She holds the bag out to him. "Want to have some?"


	20. Chapter 20

The late summer air is heavy but she doesn't feel the humidity. Lights twinkle from where they're looped in the exposed beams of the boathouse joined by the flashes from cameras. The big band in the corner plays.

She doesn't hear or see any of it.

Her head is cushioned on his shoulder, eyes closed as he leads them in circles along the dance floor.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he murmurs into her ear.

She turns her head, sighing into the warmed skin of his neck. "I'm so happy, Castle." When she lifts her head off his shoulder just enough for him to lean forward, touch his lips to hers, she smiles. "Thank you," she whispers softly.


	21. Chapter 21

**Note from Logan:** The next twenty or so chapters are re-posts of old drabbles. I had them up on my tumblr and am working on re-organizing my page. So these are going up here. I apologize for those of you who have this/me on alerts for the upcoming e-mail spam.

* * *

Christmas music was playing softly in the loft. A disco of lights from the tree were decorating the ceiling and walls, blinking happily even as snow continued to fall steadily outside.

The loft was empty save for her, standing in the kitchen with the bowl in the crook of her arm. She was mixing the ingredients together, humming along with the songs. She lost all of her self-consciousness when she was alone. Alexis and Martha were off at separate parties, exchanging gifts with friends or enjoying drinks over dinner. Castle was out doing last minute gift shopping having waited until Christmas Eve to get everything together.

Kate had grown tired of wandering around the apartment, watching the lights from the tree and the snow sparkling outside as it settled on the balcony. So she had pulled out the cookbook no one knew she had brought with her when she had moved in and started baking. The third batch of cookies was cooling on racks across the counter and dining room table as she made the frosting, adding a dot of food coloring to the white mixture and watching as it turned a peppermint red.

She was sitting at the table, a knife in one hand and a cookie in the other, frosting the top and ignoring the extra frosting that was beginning to coat her fingertips. She was singing "Let It Snow!" when the door opened.

"Don't encourage the weather, Kate!" he called out, shaking the snow off his coat as he dropped the bags in the doorway.

His cold hands slipped over her shoulders, the cookie in her hands nearly flying out of them as she jumped. "Castle!"

Equally chilly lips peppered kisses along her collarbone. "What?"

"You're freezing!" she said, shoving his face away from her neck.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, bringing her fingers up to his lips, drawing her pointer finger into his mouth and licking the frosting off the tips. "Mmm… I like when you're domestic."

"Yeah?" Kate used her free hand to pick up another finger of frosting, smearing it across his lips with a little grin. Then she pulled him down to her level, running her tongue across his lips, tasting the sugar and a taste that was all Castle.

His fingers tangled in her hair, keeping her mouth pressed against his. He only pulled back when they both had run out of breath. "Definitely."

Kate picked up one of her finished cookies and popped it into her mouth. "Glad to hear that. Now you can help me finish frosting these for Santa."

Castle sat in the chair next to her, picking up the knife she had dropped. "Thought you didn't believe in Santa."

"I don't, but I know you'll want to leave cookies and milk out anyway so you can eat them in the morning."

He leaned over, brushing another kiss over her lips. "You know me so well, Detective."

"Get frosting, Castle." She plucked the knife from between his fingers. "And your own knife."

They sat side by side, frosting the cookies shaped like trees and bells and ice skates, Kate's toes running up Castle's shin as he tickled her side between cookies, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" played around them.


	22. Chapter 22

He needed a compass, a map straight to where he wanted to go. It was so much easier in the real world. Log onto Google Maps, plug in your current location and your destination and follow the instructions.

That didn't work with people's hearts. He was left seeking the right path, trying to avoid wrong turns, taking detours in order to keep away from shortcuts. Normally, he'd be all for the fastest way to his goal, but this case was different.

He was going to be in this for keeps. The quickest path wouldn't cut it this time. That's the path he took with his first two. But she was going to count. If that meant he spent years finding his way into her heart then so be it.

He stepped off the elevator, circled around the wall dividing the bullpen from the rest of the floor, and set her coffee next to her keyboard. "Good morning, Detective."

As her hand wrapped around the cup, he could only imagine how it would feel when those same fingers wrapped around his own fingers.

"Morning, Castle."

Her soft smile as she took the first sip of coffee was enough to confirm his thoughts. He'd keep seeking out the correct path just to see her smile like that every morning when they woke up together and every night when they fell asleep.


	23. Chapter 23

"What's this?"

Castle had placed the bag on her desk without a word, breezing right past her desk as he headed toward the elevator. She didn't get up to stop him, watching as the doors closed on his smile.

She waited to tip the edge of the bag toward her, the only view being of white tissue paper in the light grey bag. Her fingers shifted the paper aside, the crinkle filling the empty precinct as if a microphone was held against it. A quick glance told her she was still alone so she pulled the bit of tissue paper from the bag.

Nestled in the bottom of the bag was a piece of fabric. Her fingertips brushed the top as she pulled it out of the bag, shaking the cloth out. A scarf. The cloth was a cream color, black scrollwork along the end of it, the two colors twisting into the fringe.

As she ran her hand over the soft pattern, a piece of paper fell from the folds.

_Kate –_

_This is made from alpaca wool. They're resilient creatures, able to adapt to almost any climate. In your own way, you are an alpaca. Times may be rough now, but they will get better._

It was silky and Kate had a hard time believing it was wool. She twisted the fringe around her finger, admiring the scrolls, curls, and twists that faded from black at the bottom to grey to cream, blending into the middle of the scarf.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, smiling at the scarf in her lap. She wondered how long he had been hiding this in the precinct, waiting for the right time to hand it over. The case had been difficult and he could read the fact she was emotionally and physically drained as if it were a novel. She shouldn't have been surprised that he had something ready to pick her spirits up again. She wouldn't be shocked to find out he had a whole stash of presents around the precinct for nights like this.

It was dark outside so she was willing to call it a night. The smile still on her face, Kate buttoned up her jacket, then wrapped the scarf around her neck, admiring the way the monotonous colors contrasted against the bright red of her jacket as she took the stairs down to head home.


	24. Chapter 24

The envelopes on the dining room table were mocking her. She had saved all of them to open at the same time. Her mother had teased her about it as Kate worried about getting in anywhere.

"Kate, just open the biggest one," Johanna had insisted once it came in the mail. "The bigger ones always mean acceptance."

She had refused, sitting back on the couch and opening up her copy of _King Lear_ to finish her Advance Placement Literature homework. "Once they all come in, Mom."

Johanna had exchanged glances with Jim, ones that sent him the message that if their daughter didn't open one of those letters soon, Johanna would do it for her. She was tired of hearing Kate go from complaining about not knowing if anyone wanted her in the fall to being completely nonchalant about the entire process. They had flown and drove and taken trains all across the country, touring every college that Kate had written up on the back of a scraped brief of Johanna's. They had run the gamut, from mid-level schools to Ivys. And she had applied to all of them; money for the application fees not an issue for the family.

Top of the list was Harvard. She had fallen in love with the architecture of the Massachusetts school, could picture herself lounging on the grass between weathered brick buildings during the fall and spring, then bundling up for the walk to classes in the snow. Sure, Cambridge often got way more snow than New York did, but she could get over that little detail in order to get in.

So the day the envelope with the Harvard seal in the corner arrived, the last of the letters to come in, the family had gathered around that stack on the dining room table. Kate was on one side, Johanna and Jim on the other, their clasped hands hidden under the table.

"Which one do I open first?" she asked, her eyes turning up from the pile to fix on her mother's.

Jim nudged the Harvard one toward his daughter. "Go with first choice."

She slid her finger under the sealed flap on the back, hesitating as she opened it. Then, in a typical Johanna Beckett move, she closed her eyes, gave her head a little shake, and pulled the papers out. Unfolding the few sheets of creamy paper, Kate read the first lines.

Without a word, she shoved the papers at her parents and pushed away from the table. "Figures…" she muttered, walking toward her bedroom.

Jim picked up the discarded letter, placing it between his wife and him so they could read together.

_Miss Katherine Beckett,_

_The admissions office of Harvard University is sorry to inform you that we were not able to admit you to Harvard this year._

As Jim pulled a hand through his hair, Johanna scooped up the letter from Stanford. "I'll talk to her."

Her door was closed which meant she wanted to be alone. For the first time since establishing that little rule, Johanna ignored it. Kate was curled up at her headboard, her pillows clutched to her chest as she hid her face in them.

"Sweetie, it's okay," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing her hand over Kate's upper arm.

Kate shook her head, her voice muffled by the pillows. "It's not."

Johanna tugged the pillows away from her daughter's face, revealing the faintest of blood-shot eyes and the evidence of tears. "Yes, it is. Look, sometimes things don't come easily, especially things that we want really badly."

"I wanted Harvard, Mom." Her voice was shaky even as she reached up to wipe at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "More than anything."

"I know that. But that's not going to happen this time around. Here." She poked Kate's arm with the corner of the envelope. "Try this one." When her daughter turned her eyes up in doubt, Johanna just repeated the motion. "I have a good feeling about it."

Kate didn't want to open another letter. The sting of rejection cut deep on someone who really hadn't failed at anything. Successful at everything except getting to the one place she dreamed about. But her mother was sitting there, watching and waiting, so Kate sighed and started at the envelope, more reckless than she had been with the Harvard one.

Johanna sensed her husband leaning on the doorframe of the room, just watching, the quiet presence of the family. But she kept her eyes on Kate's face as she read the Stanford letter.

Slowly, Kate smiled, holding the letter in one hand as she swiped at old tears. "California will be warmer than New York."

"And Cambridge," added Johanna, placing her hand over Kate's. "You'll love Stanford, Katie."

"Plus, Stanford has a nicer shade of red in their school colors," chimed in Jim from the doorway. "And with it being on the opposite coast, I'll finally convince your mother to take time off from work to come visit you."

Kate grinned at her father before tossing the pillows aside and jumping into her mother's embrace. "Thanks, Mom, for making me open them."

"Anytime, Katie." Johanna tugged at her daughter's hand. "Come on, let's go open the rest and see which ones have the funniest admission counselor names."


	25. Chapter 25

They always say, at weddings, don't look at the bride as she comes down the aisle – she'll be gorgeous and glowing, of course – but look at the groom. He'll be the one whose face lights up the moment her foot steps through the door, the one who sees his heart walking toward him while everyone else simply sees a beautiful woman.

That day in August was no different.

The weather was just shifting to fall in New York City, the trees around the boathouse changing from green to a sunset of golds, oranges, and reds. A few of the branches were sneaking in on the ceremony space, the leaves fluttering in the soft breeze.

His hands were in the pockets of his pants, his fingers twirling around the slim ring resting there. He wasn't nervous. Kate was the only woman he had ever been completely certain of when it came to marriage. With Meredith, it was him being a gentleman to the young actress he had accidently gotten pregnant after a night of alcohol-fuzzed fun. Gina was a rebound, something to draw him away from the pain of Meredith's betrayal and a person to get him to focus on the two things that mattered – Alexis and his books.

Kate wasn't an obligation. She wasn't a rebound. She was truly the only woman who he had ever loved.

They had decided not to have music during the ceremony, so his eyes were trained on the doorway that lead from the interior of the boathouse to the deck where everyone was seated, just waiting.

The instant he saw her, those people disappeared. He hated the cliché; as a writer, he hoped to be more inventive, but he had long ago learned that when a phrase works, use it. Their eyes met, her lips turning up into a smile. He was certain he looked like a fool, certain his own smile took up half his face like some sort of cartoon character. And he was certain he didn't care.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets in time to take one of hers, making sure he didn't crush the bouquet as he did.

"Hey," she whispered, tugging her arm from her father and reaching up to wipe away a tear he didn't know he had shed.

His fingers tightened around hers. "Kate… You look so-"

She cut him off with a finger to his lips, still smiling under her finger. "Shush so we can get married."

Kate turned just enough to let her father kiss her forehead before going to sit next to the empty bench spot for his wife, a single branch of forget-me-nots on the program. Across the aisle was another empty seat, a collection of oak leaves tied with ribbon resting on the bench.

He inched closer to her, their arms meeting in the middle, and he snagged her pinky, giving it a squeeze just as the judge started speaking, using the simple motion to tell her exactly how he felt.


	26. Chapter 26

It was late and they had been the only one sitting in the old fashioned booths in Remy's. Seemed to be the case more and more often as they tended to leave the precinct last. The cook at Remy's now knew to expect the detective and writer as they stumbled in well past normal dinner hours, already had their burgers on the grill and a basket of fries out for them to munch on until the meat was cooked.

Tonight had been no different. The clock on the dashboard of the Crown Vic declared it as nearly ten o'clock, the city long gone to bed around them as they left the open-all-night diner.

"We really need to set a curfew for ourselves."

Kate glanced over to the passenger seat where Castle was stretching his arms over his head as best as he could in the cramped car. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Every time we grab dinner after work, it's later and later. Can't be good for our sleep patterns."

"So glad one of us is looking out for our well-being," she tossed back, taking a sharp right before a cab could cut her off.

Castle grinned back at her. "Hate to see you run yourself into the ground…"

The rest of his sentence trailed off as the car shuddered to a stop along the side of the road.

"Or you could just run the car into the ground."

Kate's glare told him it was not the time to joke. "Maintenance was supposed to look it over after the engine light wouldn't go off last week." She twisted in her seat, digging in the back for the flashlight on the ground, clicking it on to make sure the batteries were still good. "Get out and see what's wrong, Castle."

"Me?" he asked, holding his hands against his chest. "No way." When Kate only raised a brow, pushing the flashlight closer to him, Castle shook his head. "Do you see the area we're in? No chance I'm getting out and risking my life for this car."

"So what's the grand plan, Castle? Sit in the car and wait for someone to come rob us as we hang out?" Because Kate had to admit, the area of the city they had found themselves in wasn't exactly the most welcoming.

"Why can't you go out and poke around the engine?" he probed, giving the flashlight a shove back toward her.

"Because."

He gave a short laugh. "Now you sound like a parent. Because why, Kate?"

"You're a guy! You're supposed to love taking apart cars to see how they work!" She was rolling her eyes and he could see that typical Beckett move even in the low light shining in from a flickering street lamp. "Castle, you are the only guy in this car. Get out there and check what's wrong or I'm kicking you out and leaving you here to fend for yourself."

The threat worked. Castle grabbed the flashlight from Kate, climbing out of the car as she reached down to pop the hood up. Only the pale light from the flashlight shone around the metal sheet. She rolled the window down, sticking her head out to try and watch this.

"See anything?"

His voice was muffled as he looked at the car parts. As much as he wanted to be the dude that perused hot rod magazines and knew how to fix engines with a twist of his wrist, Castle really wasn't. But he wanted to impress Kate, so he was moving things around in the hood of the car, hoping and praying that he wasn't doing more damage to the already beaten-up police-issue vehicle.

"Um… I think it might be good." His head appeared on her side of the car, the flashlight held against his side by his arm. "Try turning it on again?"

Kate turned the key in the ignition. The car stuttered to life, slowly and painfully. "You did it!"

Castle had run around to his side of the car, jumping in. "Let's go before it decides to die again."

"What did you do?"

_Act cool, Castle, _he reminded himself as he gave a shrug. "Oh, you know. Guy stuff."

Kate smiled as she took the next corner a little slower. "I'll have to let Maintenance know that you could lend your expertise to them for a while. Get you out of my hair for a while."

As they pulled up to the curb outside his building, Castle reached over and tugged a strand of her hair. "Detective Beckett, I am very happy staying tangled up in your hair at the moment." He got out of the car quickly, avoiding her grab for his ear. "Have a lovely night, Detective."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or attempt to run him over as he jogged up to the front door. Not wanting to risk the car doing an encore performance, she decided heading home and planning just how she was going to get revenge on the people down in Maintenance. Maybe sending Castle down to them would be painful enough…


	27. Chapter 27

There was a fresh blanket of snow covering the majority of the island. Her boots crunched the frozen blades of grass as she traipsed across the park, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of the peacoat in an attempt to keep the tips of her fingers warm. It was failing, but she wasn't about to pull her gloved hands out to see how much worse it was without the extra layer of protection.

Lanie looked up from the body of a young woman who had been found lying facedown in a snowdrift by some kids going tubing on their snow day. "Victim is a… Beckett, what the hell is on your head?"

_And so it begins._

"A hat. One wears it to keep one's head and ears warm in weather such as the type we are currently experiencing." She put a hand up to pull the knit hat down further over her ears as she crouched next to the body. "The victim is a what, Lanie?"

Her friend's eyes still lingered on her hat as she rambled off facts about the young woman, apparently shot to death with a .22. She said something about bringing the body back to the morgue to check blood alcohol levels but it had trailed off as her gaze was drawn back to Kate's head. Kate shot a quick glare at Lanie as she headed back to the car. Castle was planning on meeting her at the precinct. She could only pray that he was bringing coffee with him.

He was already sitting in the chair next to her desk when she stepped off the elevator, a mug of coffee with steam curling from the surface placed at the corner of her keyboard.

Kate tossed the hat and gloves onto her desk, grabbing up the coffee and taking a sip. "Thank you, Castle."

Castle wasn't really paying attention. Like Lanie, his eyes were stuck on the hat.

When he didn't respond, Kate gave him a kick to his shin. "Are you awake?"

"You're actually wearing that thing?"

She shrugged, sitting down as she loosened her scarf. "It was a present. Of course I'm going to wear it."

"Yeah, but… Kate, it was a joke!" Castle made a move to take the hat but Kate slapped her hand over it, fixing him with a glare.

"Our five year old daughter picked that hat out. If she wants me to wear it, I'll wear it." Kate stuffed the hat into the pocket of her coat. "Why? You embarrassed to be seen with me wearing it out in public?"

"No, but… I mean, it's sort of funny looking, don't you think?"

Kate tugged the hat back out from her coat, running a finger over one of the pom-poms hanging off the hat. "It's unique. Like her."

"Unique is certainly one word to describe that."

It was a navy blue knit hat. Innocent enough. Until one noticed the pom-poms in every color imaginable hanging off of the hat by thin threads. They were hot pink one, charcoal grey, forest green, so yellow it was like looking into the sun, and the deepest of reds. A lavender one always hung in Kate's eyes, causing her to bat it out of her eyesight like a cat.

"It has good qualities. It fulfills the purpose of a hat. It goes with everything. And she gave it to me, so there's that whole love thing attached to it."

Castle was watching as Kate twisted the string of the tan pom-pom around her pinky finger. "Well then you feel free to wear that silly, ridiculous hat wherever you want."

She kept the hat out on her desk, placing it on a pile of unfinished paperwork as she returned to her coffee. "So glad I have your permission now."

When they walked in the door of the loft, that hat still sitting proudly on top of Kate's curls, the five year old who had been coloring with Alexis squealed.

"Mommy, you're wearing my hat!"

Kate bent down, letting the pom-poms hit the girl in the face playfully. "Of course I am! Everyone loves it."

The girl tossed an eye-roll that she had long ago picked up from her mother. "Except Daddy. He thinks it's funny."

"Let me tell you a secret." The girl scooted closer as Kate cupped her hand to whisper. "Daddy loves this hat, too. He told me at work." Another squeal until Kate tugged her daughter back. "Don't tell him I told you. He likes pretending to be all tough and manly."

Their daughter slid off the chair at the dining room table, running over to wrap herself around Castle's legs. "I love you, Daddy."

Castle glanced over at Kate who only gave him a secretive smile as he reached down to ruffle the girl's brown hair. "Love you too, sweetie."


	28. Chapter 28

Q3 is empty save for the two of them, sitting at one of the tables in the center of the large dining room. Kate had swung by after shift, Maddie had just finished closing up the restaurant for the night. Every two weeks, they had tried to find time to chat, to keep in touch. Kate had forgotten how much fun Maddie was, a different kind of fun than Lanie was.

"So, you and writer boy shack up yet?" the blonde woman asked just as Kate took a sip of her wine. The woman had to have planned it that way as Kate fought not to spit the liquid across the table.

"What?"

Maddie shrugged. "You know what I said."

Kate had become an expert at avoiding the questions that included some reference to Castle and activities that involved a bed. "What about you? You over Brent Edwards yet?"

"Actually, yeah." Maddie took her own sip of wine, a smile edging around the rim of the wide-bellied glass. "He's going to pick me up tonight, so you'll get to meet him."

"Give me some hints. What does he look like?" Kate asked, leaning her forearms on the table. "Because if I remember correctly, Brent was pretty hot."

Maddie got up, taking the two empty wine glasses with her as she motioned for Kate to follow into the kitchen. "Well, he's tall, dark, and handsome." When Kate only gave Maddie a light punch on the shoulder, her friend sighed. "Completely smokin', Becks. Just wait. Words do him no justice."

As they walked through the dining room, someone knocked on the locked doors. Kate gave Maddie a shove in the direction of the front doors.

"Go let Mr. Smokin' Hot in. I'll grab our coats."

Maddie gave a giggle as she ran for the doors. Kate only rolled her eyes as she went to the coat room, pulling down the two jackets still hanging there. Shrugging her own on, she draped Maddie's bright green one over her arm as she went back out to the dining room to meet the dream man.

They were kissing until Kate cleared her throat. Maddie swiped a thumb over the man's lips to get rid of her lipstick.

"Uh, Kate. This is-"

"Tom?"

He had grown his hair out a little, but the man with his arm still around Maddie's waist was definitely Tom Demming. "Beckett?"

"Maddie?" Kate shot at her friend. "He's your new boyfriend?"

The blonde kept glancing between the two other people, confusion clearly the only expression she knew at the moment. "Wait a second. You two know each other?"

"That's an understatement," Tom managed to mutter.

"What do you mean?"

Kate handed Maddie her coat. "We dated. Once." She smiled at Tom, genuine and heartfelt. "How are you?"

"Busy. But I'm sure you're the same way." Maddie was tugging him toward the door, anxious to get out and on their way, her brilliant green coat a sharp contrast to Tom's navy peacoat. Ying and yang.

Maddie shooed Tom down the sidewalk a bit once she had locked the doors to Q3 behind them. "Kate. Is this going to be Brent Edwards all over again… again?"

Kate shook her head. "No. No, it's good, Maddie. I'm happy for the both of you." She pulled her phone from her pocket, checked the time with a smile. "Listen. There's something I need to do. Have a great night, Maddie," she said as she gave the woman one last hug. "Bye, Tom!" Kate called with a wave down the sidewalk toward the other detective.

She waited until Maddie caught up with Tom, their arms looping around the other's waist as they started down the block. Kate hailed a cab that happened to be passing the restaurant, giving the driver an address other than her own.

"Kate."

He sounded surprised after he opened the door to the woman standing in the hallway. In one hand, he held a book, his finger stuck in the pages as a temporary bookmark. The book fell to the ground as Kate pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips across his. Castle's hands rested against her waist, not pulling her toward him but not pushing her away either.

"What was that for?" he asked breathlessly, ignoring the book with its spine cracked.

Settling back on her heels, Kate smiled softly. "You're my yang."


	29. Chapter 29

It was past midnight when she padded her way into the living room. He was still sleeping, his arm thrown out over his head. Kate didn't bother him, staying silent as she followed the light from the tree. She tugged the neckline of the sweatshirt she wore up onto her shoulder; it slipped right back down.

The multicolored lights from the tree in the corner of the living room reflected back at her from the mirror surface of the windows as she sat against the coffee table to look at the evergreen.

She hadn't had a real tree since she started living on her own. It had been silly to get a tree when she was the only one to enjoy it. But now, it felt right.

Kate shifted forward, moving some of the presents piled under the tree to the side so she could slip her head under the branches. A few pine needles fell onto her face and Kate brushed them away, their scent lingering in her hair.

"What're you doing?"

His voice was sleepy but Kate smiled. "Lying here."

Castle walked over, gave her foot a light kick. "I can see that. Why?"

"It's magic."

"Oh goodness. Did the stubborn, practical Katherine Beckett just admit to believing in magic?" he asked, kneeling next to her calves, giving one of them a squeeze.

Kate returned the kick, grinning up into the branches. "It's a Christmas miracle."

He held onto her leg and gave her a tug so she slid out from under the tree. Bracing one hand on the tree skirt under her head, Castle leaned over to press his lips to her smile. "Must be something in the air." Another gentle kiss, his fingers running over her cheek. "Come back to bed, Kate. The tree will be here tomorrow."

Kate inched out from under the tree, taking Castle's offered hand to get to her feet. He kept his arm around her waist, her head on his bicep as they wandered back through the study to the bedroom. As he pulled her back against his chest, his arm looped over her waist, Kate turned her head so she could see his face.

"I hope we'll do the same thing with the next generation in this place."

The expression on his face was some combination of shock and the purest look of love she had ever seen. "You mean?"

"I mean." Even with her head twisted to face behind her, Kate managed to get floored by the third kiss of the night.

"Best present ever," Castle murmured against her lips.


	30. Chapter 30

He was stuck watching from the observation room as his girlfriend flirted in the other room. His hands were fists on the short counter as her lilting laughter trickled through the speakers to his ears. She was sitting on the metal table, leaning forward as she talked to the suspect, giving the two of them an alluring peek at the top curve of her cleavage. One hand came up to twirl a strand of hair.

That was when he knew he couldn't watch anymore. Castle turned, closing the door to the observation room with maybe too much force, judging from the rattle of glass that followed him.

Ryan and Esposito were chatting at their desks and he didn't want to talk about their Fantasy Football teams. The next safest bet was the break room, blessedly empty at the moment.

His hands shook a little as he pour a cup of coffee, stirring in cream and sugar before sitting at the tall table. Waiting.

The coffee was half gone and what was left had gone cold by the time she entered the room.

"Hey. Wondered where you had gone," she said, going to pour her own coffee. "You missing our suspect spilling-"

She was cut off when he spun her around, plucking the mug from her hands and setting it on the counter. The teasing eyes he had seen in the interrogation room were replaced by surprise.

"Castle, what're you-"

This time, he halted her words by kissing her. Not one of their gentle, sweet kisses. Not even a passionate one. No, this one was all about possession. Kate jerked back, but her lower back was against the counter and his hands had tangled in her hair, effectively pinning her in place.

Seconds later, he pulled away, both of their breathing heavy.

His eyes held hers as he pushed further against her. "You're mine, Beckett."

Shock had woven its way into the surprise. "What?"

"I had to watch you flirt, tease that man. Watch you giggle like a schoolgirl at his half-assed compliments and corny pick-up lines." His lips grazed down her jaw to her neck. Her head fell back against his hands. "Do you know how that made me feel? Do you have any idea?"

"God, Castle," she managed to gasp, her chest brushing against his, feeling heat even through the layers of clothing.

He nipped at her collar, not enough to leave a mark but enough to draw out a quiet moan from her throat. "That's not an answer, Kate," he admonished.

At some point, her eyes had closed. It took all of her energy to open them. His were swirls of anger, frustration, and desire.

"It was a strategy, Castle. Didn't mean anything."

It was clear he didn't believe her. His fingers scraped against her scalp, giving the strands wrapped around them a tug, his lips moving across her neck. "Not good enough of an excuse. Strike one."

"Castle," she breathed, finding it hard to keep words straight as he pressed kisses to the skin exposed at her shoulder. "Only way he would've broken."

Even the slide of his mouth as he spoke had her shivering. "Strike two.

She didn't want to know what he'd do if she struck out in this game. Mustering all of her brainpower, Kate pushed Castle's head back. She twisted her own fingers into his thick hair to hold his face in front of hers.

"Sorry."

The single word was the one he had been waiting for. "Accepted," he murmured, kissing her on the lips softly.

Kate ran a finger down the front of his green shirt before picking up her coffee and walking from the break room. "Good color for you today, Castle."


	31. Chapter 31

The sun was peeking through the curtains they had forgotten to close the previous night, sending rays of light onto the floor and across the rumpled sheets. The city was waking up outside just as one of the bodies in the bed rolled over with a quiet groan.

Castle rubbed his eyes, propping himself up on one elbow as he squinted into the half-light. "Weird…"

The voice that responded was mumbled, lost in the fabric of the pillowcase. "What's weird?"

"Had a dream." The other person exhaled softly, pulling the sheets further over them. Castle kept talking. "You were a cop." That drew a short laugh and he could almost see her lips turn up into a smile. "And I was following you around on cases since you were my inspiration for a book series."

"You were a writer?"

Castle reached over and gave the woman a gentle shove. "Shush. I could be a writer. Anyway, I had a daughter and my mother was a little over-the-top. And you're mother was gone, murdered, and you were trying to figure out who had killed her. I think you got shot over it…"

"You're right." Kate pushed herself up off the pillow, looking over at her husband with an amused smile. "That's weird. Why would I run around the streets looking for creeps when I'm more than happy in a studio, mixing tunes with you?"

He shook his head as he shifted over her, pressing her back into the mattress. "No idea, Euterpe, oh music muse of mine."

Even her little sigh sounded like the most beautiful melody to the guitarist as he placed a kiss on her lips.


	32. Chapter 32

They really suck at hiding it.

Last week it was a near miss in the office supply closet. He had her pushed up against the back wall, his mouth blazing a heated path down along her jaw to her neck. One of her legs was creeping up against his calf, dragging the pant leg up with those ridiculously high heels she insisted on wearing. Just as he had slipped his hand up under the hem of her shirt, Velasquez had intruded, looking for paperclips.

Monday, Esposito had found them in the spare observation room. That time, it was Castle who was shoved against one of the filing cabinets but he still had the first few buttons of Kate's shirt undone, fingers tripping along the curve of her breast while she nipped at his neck. They barely had time to spring apart before Esposito walked in, their faces still red, lips swollen, hair mussed. They screamed guilty.

But now she's tired of the quiet murmurs that die off when she or Castle nears. Not that she wants the opportunity to jump the man every time they cross paths but not having to hide a quick linking of hands or worrying about the boys overhearing a whispered "I love you" would be nice.

"I'm gonna tell them," she says quietly, looking at paperwork rather than the man playing a round of Draw Something against Alexis.

"Tell who what?" he asks as he hits 'Done!' and looks up.

Kate doesn't need to speak in order for him to figure it out. She just smiles, one of the tiny ones that she reserves only for him. Speaking in glances has always been their primary form of communication.

"Seriously?" Castle exclaims, sitting up in the chair. "But… why?"

"So I can do this," she says, leaning toward him and pressing her mouth to his still shocked one, "without them staring."

"Uh…" Castle glances back at Ryan and Esposito and finds the two of them doing just that – gawking shamelessly. "Hi, guys."

It's Esposito who regains his control of speech first. "When'd that happen?"

Kate shrugs. "Few weeks ago." She turns back to the computer screen and the report she was finishing up. "Gonna call Lanie or…?"

"Why would we call Lanie?" Ryan asks, sounding a mixture of horrified and proud.

"The pool I'm sure you have going will need a winner, right? All that money to be exchanged along with bragging rights. Lanie has to be in charge of that."

Castle is the one staring now, slack-jawed at Kate who is chatting about him – about them – so nonchalantly. Like betting on relationships was no big deal.

Esposito's already on his cell, pacing the bullpen as the phone rings. "Hola, chica. You know your girl and Writer Boy –"

Kate can almost hear Lanie screaming into the mouthpiece. Her smile is close-lipped, steadfastly typing rather than trying to hear the conversation that she knows will end with Lanie taking a cab up to the Twelfth.

Half an hour later, one very pissed-off medical examiner barges out of the elevator, pushing aside the gaggle of uniforms getting off-shift. "Katherine Beckett!"

Kate sighs and gives Castle's knee a brief, reassuring squeeze. "Here's the real storm." She flashes Lanie an innocent smile. "Hey. Got anything for me?"

"Got anything for you?" Lanie hisses, fists looking like they want nothing more than to haul her friend into the interrogation room and tear her apart. "When were you going to tell me about this… development between you and Castle?"

"Never. You'd've figured it out," she says. "Now settle the pool so we can all get back to work."

Lanie drags a chair over to Kate's desk and pulls a dozen or so sheets of paper from her purse. "Could take a while. You two have been the subject of this city's bets for five years."

While everyone watches Lanie flip through the names and bets on their relationship. Kate manages to finish the D5 and start the report from their case from yesterday.

"So?" Kate asks, folding her hands and facing Lanie when her friend clears her throat.

Lanie doesn't speak. She just hands over the piece of paper with the pivotal information, crumpled and folded, to Kate. There, about a third of the way down the lines of names of officers from the entire department, is a single name with a star next to it. Kate feels her throat close up, the prick of tears at her eyes.

"Better call Evelyn so she can come collect his winnings," Kate says, picking up her phone and dialing the still-familiar number.

Castle snags the paper from her to scan it. "Seriously?" He grins, shaking his head. "Figures. He always seemed like he was trying to get us together."

The entire squad meets Evelyn and the girls in the lobby of the Twelfth. The woman smiles as she gives Kate a quick hug. "Hey, Beckett."

"Evelyn, this is for you." Kate holds out a large manila envelope.

"What is…?" Evelyn murmurs, opening the clasp of the envelope. "Oh goodness! Beckett, what…?"

Castle twines his fingers with Kate's, grinning widely. "Roy's winnings."

"For what?"

"Us," Castle says, tugging Kate closer so she's snugged up against his side.

Evelyn looks just as shocked as Ryan and Esposito had been earlier. "He was betting? On you two?" she says, pointing a finger between Kate and Castle.

"Cop fun," Beckett explains. "He got the date exactly right. So, that's yours."

The other woman laughs, rolling her eyes. "God, that man..." She wraps both of them up in a hug before stepping back. "Thank you. For… for everything."

After Evelyn leaves, envelope of money under her arm, Kate turns to Castle, their fingers still twisted together. "Feel good about this?"

"You mean, do I feel good about being able to do this?" he says just moments before he uses his free hand to push his hand through her hair and bring her lips to his. As soon as she starts to hum in the base of her throat, he pulls back. "Yeah. I feel good."


	33. Chapter 33

They hit one another first. The collision with the wall comes second. His arms are wrapped around her so tightly that Kate can almost feel her ribs scraping by each other. The pain doesn't register as he slides down the wall bringing her with him.

She doesn't care that they're in the middle of the precinct in front of her friends and co-workers and Gates. Because he's holding her and it's not one of her nightmares from the hospital and it's real. His shuddering breath against her neck and the press of his fingers into her back and shoulder blades and the jut of his knee against her side prove that it isn't a dream.

He's whispering something over and over into her ear and it isn't until Kate focuses on something other than 'He's here' that she hears the words. It's her name, repeated as if a broken record. There're the warm spots that she can only pinpoint as tears because she knows she's leaving the same marks on his shirt.

No one interrupts them. People move around the two of them, using the elevator and getting water from the bubbler as if they aren't tangled together on the ground.

She speaks first but without moving her head from where it is still pressed into his shoulder. "Home," is the single rusty word she forces out.

Somehow they help one another to their feet, swaying against the wall for a moment before he reaches back and hits the elevator button – neither of them trust their feet with stairs. It's Castle that mutters "Cab" as they hit the lobby. One of the uniforms hails a taxi for them and Castle gives the young woman in the driver's seat his address.

The loft is empty, quiet. They don't bother with turning lights on as they stumble into the bedroom. Not the first time they've fumbled with clothing on their way to bed but normally they have more active things in mind than finally giving into exhaustion and pain and the relief of just being together. It was awkward, pulling hospital scrubs and loose yoga pants and t-shirts off without letting go of the other for fear that they'd disappear into the night.

They're naked by the time they pause and really study one another. There's nothing sexual with their glances, the soft touches.

His fingers skim over her cheek where there's the ghost of a scratch before trailing down over to the right side of her midsection with its row of neatly done stitches. "Kate…"

"'M okay," she slurs even as she traces a series of burns on his upper arm. "Your arm."

"Fine. Stings a bit."

"Oh god, Rick," Kate murmurs as she lets him gather her up against his chest as she breaks all over again. She can smell the hospital in his hair, against his skin as she feels him walk backwards toward the bed. He tugs her up against his chest, their hands tangled together between their bodies even as he tries to pull the sheets up around them.

Castle slips one of his hands from her grasp and brushes it up through her hair. "We're okay."

Except they aren't. Not yet. But 'alive' is close to 'okay' and that's enough for now.


	34. Chapter 34

_**Tolerable**_

She's awake. One arm is propping her head up enough that she can see the alarm clock on his side of the bed – they moved it after one too many times when they were late to work after she hit the 'off' button and went back to sleep. His face is hidden, the pillows obscuring everything except the tips of his ears and the mess of his hair.

She feels bad. He's been behind on writing and sleep and everything because she's been cranky and not wanting to move from the couch. So he's been the one out doing the grocery shopping and making lunch and dinner.

And he's been so good about it.

So when the green numbers on the clock switch to 12:00, the little dot in the corner going from PM to AM, Kate leans forward to touch her lips to his hair.

"Happy Father's Day, Castle."

He grumbles, shifting so that she can see his eyes crack open in the darkness. "Hmm?"

"It's Father's Day." She flops back on her side, fingers searching for the curve of his shoulder through the warm sheets and his t-shirt. "And you're a father. So… Happy Father's Day."

Castle moves to snuggle into her side, wrapping an arm over her extended stomach. "Almost a father again," he murmurs against her neck.

"Few more weeks." Kate rests her hand over his wrist, curling her fingers around him. "Besides, you have Alexis already. What's one more?"

It's awkward as he tries to drape himself over her and just ends up with their legs tangled and his chest pressing against her arm. The kiss, though, is anything but uncoordinated as he tips her chin up to slant his lips over hers. When she starts to sigh, her foot inching up to his knee, he pulls back.

"This one matters just as much as Alexis did. Does." He gives her another soft kiss. "You matter."

She turns her head, tucking it into his arm. "You're a good dad, Castle. One of the first things I loved about you." Her voice is sleepy, already drifting back into unconsciousness. "Made you tolerable."

"Tolerable?"

"Mhm. You were kinda an ass besides that."

He squeezes her fingers before pulling the sheets up over them. "And now?"

"Now I just love you. Go back to bed, Dad."


	35. Chapter 35

_**the many charms about you**_

Sinatra croons from the stereo. Candlelight flickers from the table. Coffee chills in ceramic mugs.

She rests her head on his chest as he spins them in slow circles, bare feet shuffling over the rug. His hand is a warm pressure at the small of her back, leading her with the slightest movements. That's how they've always done it.

Subtle actions replacing words.

She shifts her head up, just barely, so that she can drop a kiss on his throat. "I love you. I don't say it enough. But I do."

"I know." He tips his head down, his mouth meeting hers in a gentle kiss. "But it's still nice to hear."


	36. Chapter 36

His voice cuts through the nightmare, weaving into the threads of the darkness. Her name, over and over and over. Pleading. Begging.

Except now the strange man has Castle's voice.

She strikes out, fighting to get away from the voice in her mind.

He bracelets her wrists, keeping her against him. Whispering into her hair, along her cheek. He doesn't let her arch away, free hand coming up along her back.

It's the gentle brush of his lips against the corner of her mouth that brings her back on a violent sob of his name. Her fingers curl into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, wetting the shirt as she muffles her tears in his chest.

His hands smooth over her hair, catching in the tangles, soothing circles over her back.

She relaxes slowly, muscle by muscle, until her breathing is steady, lips lax against his neck.

It takes him longer to go back to sleep. He makes sure she's really asleep, safe even in her own subconscious, before he settles her against him.

They don't talk about it in the morning. They don't have to. He knows she's sorry about the nightmares. She knows he loves her anyway.

A warm kiss and an extra shot of espresso in both of their coffees on the way in to the precinct fixes the things they can control.


	37. Chapter 37

He drops her off in the lobby of the precinct before going through the metal detectors. In the corner along the memorial wall of fallen officers, he cups one of her elbows, lifting her up onto her toe tips to brush soft kisses over her lips. When she drops back to her heels, she reaches up to smooth back his hair.

"See you tonight?" she asks quietly.

He nods, sliding the coffee cup into her hand. "I'll make dinner. Stay safe, Ann."

She smiles, touching her lips to his cheek once more. "Love you."

Paul turns for the door. He nearly runs into the couple on the sidewalk, coffee cups caught between their bodies as they kiss near the exterior wall of the precinct. "Hello again, Detective, Mr. Castle," he says, dodging them as he jogs to grab the cab just passing by.


	38. Chapter 38

"I didn't sleep well that whole first year after you got out of the Academy. I'd hear sirens in the night and imagine you off in the darkness someplace. I had nightmares where it swallowed you whole."

* * *

He can't sleep. He's been rolling over and over, burying his face into the pillows. The fear, the worry keeps him up along with the occasional scream of sirens. The time ticks by, crawling slowly.

And then he finally grabs the phone off the bedside table, speed-dialing her.

"Hey, Dad," she answers breathlessly. "What's wrong?"

He sighs, collapsing back into the pillows. "Nothing. Just… Just wanted to hear your voice. Know you're okay."

He can hear the echo of his daughter's hushed whisper in the speaker. Must be in a basement or something. "I'm fine. I've gotta go. Um, I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah. Night, Katie." She's hung up but he can feel the stress leak from his body. She's okay. The fear is ridiculous. She's okay.

The darkness hasn't gotten her yet.

* * *

She puts the phone back in her pocket, picking the flashlight back up off the ground. She needs to be quiet; she's not supposed to be back here in the first place. She glances up, making sure that no one is coming by before she pulls the box closer.

Things aren't making sense. Gang violence? Really?

Her finger traces her mother's name on the tab of the file. She's gonna figure this out. She needs to figure this out.

Just as she takes out the medical examiner's report, the batteries in her Maglite die, plunging her into the darkness of the Records room.

Shit.


	39. Chapter 39

It's a little thing.

His arm across the small of her back, fingers curled against her waist. Tucking her into his side. Just so that he knows she's there. Safe. His soft breathing feathers over her cheeks as she pulls her arm up between them. Her fingers trace over the lines of his jaw, the night of stubble growth scratching at the pad of her fingertips. They dip into the wrinkles that years of his laughter have left. His hair is flat in some spots, sticking up wildly in others. She tries to smooth the strands into order, giving up when they spring back up.

His eyes open slowly, blinking in the darkness until they focus on hers. Those laugh lines crinkle as she feels him smile under her palm.

"Morning," he whispers, voice rough with lingering sleep.

Waking up next to him is a little thing.

But sometimes little things are the biggest of all.


End file.
